Last Song (Heinlein's Finches Book 3)

by Robin Banks

  Four records.

  Death records.

  I poke at the screen and turn to the chair.

  “They were old, but young, you see? This isn’t right.” The words come out kinda mumbly. “All the other ones were young, or old.”

  Quinn unfolds herself from the chair. She must have been sleeping. Her hair is loose over her shoulders and her face looks all crumpled up and confused and really open, really honest, like she’d look at someone she hasn’t got to pretend anything for. That hits me like a punch in the guts, but then I remember that it’s not for me, that it’s an accident I’m here to see it, and I remember what I was doing, and I remember that I have a body and that body is very, very sore. My head hurts, my eyes feel gritty, and my mouths tastes like something died in it. I probably look like shit, too. Yeah, well, it’s not like it matters.

  “I need to tell the guys. People died wrong.”

  “Do you need to tell them now?” Her voice sounds honest, too.

  “Are they busy?”

  “It’s the middle of the night. They’re asleep.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” I let my head fall against the back of my chair. I feel like my spine isn’t stacked up right.

  “Will you remember it tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. I’ll leave the files out. Just in case. You go to sleep.”

  “And you?”

  Her eyes are huge, liquid, and soft in the dim light. When I grow up, I’ll find someone who looks like that at me for real – not just because I’m a person and they’re nice, but because I’m me.

  Then I remember I’m not going to grow up. I close my eyes to block hers out, because taking what isn’t mine hurts too damn much, and everything turns off.

  “Maybe we should have moved him.” Gwen’s voice. Concerned.

  “I didn’t want to wake him. He went out like a light.” Quinn. I’d pay to see her eyes right now.

  “Don’t worry about it. He’ll be alright. That’s how he always goes when he ends a big project. He’ll come round when he’s good and ready. He’s a bit more committed than usual, I guess, and he went into it already worn out. He’s had a rough couple of months.” Alya, washing my dirty linen in public. Godsdammit.

  There’s next to no chance of coming out of this with a single shred of dignity left, but I still try. I count up to three and manage to open my eyes on the second attempt. The lights are way too bright, but I manage not to blink too many times. And yay, I’m the star of this bit of street theatre. Everyone’s eyeballing me. The kids are here too. I’d like to rub the sleep off my face, but that seems undignified.

  “Timezit?”

  Alya smiles. “Mid-morning. You missed breakfast. We can fix that.”

  Ok. I’m getting there. “Dayzit?”

  “Thursday.”

  Alright. “Two days?”

  “Three, kid. I was starting to consider pulling the plug on you.”

  “M’aright. Coffee?”

  “Solid food first.”

  Aargh. “K.”

  I try to walk like normal people do. I mostly manage, even though some bits of me are connected wrong. Quinn and Gwen throw sideways looks at me but leave me well alone. Alya knows better than to try to talk to me. The kids stare at me like I’m a circus act. I can’t blame them.

  When we get into the house, Gwen and Quinn clear off and take the kids with them. Alya sits across the table from me. After a while coffee appears. So does a plate of food. Gwen sits at the table with us.

  I must look particularly pathetic, because Alya throws her arms up in the air and groans.

  “Whatever! Coffee first. But you better eat afterwards, ok?”

  Halfway through my coffee I start to feel almost humanoid. Unfortunately, Alya notices that. She taps her finger on the table and casts a meaningful glance at my plate. I could try to argue my way out of eating and still end up eating, or I could just eat. I take the second option. It’s less effort.

  About three bites in, I realize I’m fucking starving and start to shovel the food in my face as fast as it’ll go. It takes a while for my stomach to wake up enough to complain about it, by which time I’m full up anyway. Another couple of coffees bring me up to my normal operating speed, and then I remember about the deaths.

  “Four Patrolmen, Alya. They died.”

  “Kid, that happens.”

  “Yes, but these died wrong. They attended a disturbance and they died, but they were the wrong age. In their thirties.”

  “Why is thirty the wrong age for a Patrolman to die?”

  I try to find the words for it. In my head, it’s just the wrong color in a picture. “It’s not. Patrolmen die all the time. But there’s something off with these ones. Younger ones die more often attending disturbances. But that’s not it. The cause of death listed for these four is cardiac arrest. That’s bullshit.”

  “Thirty is a bit young to have a heart attack, I guess. But if they weren’t well and they got stressed enough…”

  “Nah, that’s not it. Cardiac arrest is a bullshit cause of death. It just says that your heart stopped, not why. Back home they used it to cover shit up so miners’ families would still get a pension. My dad died of it.”

  Alya frowns. “Oh?”

  “Yeah. He got bottled in the neck in a bar during a fight he’d started. Your family doesn’t get Fed benefits if you die while committing a felony, and the medic was nice, so the death certificate stated cardiac arrest. His heart did stop. He’d just bled to death before that.”

  “Holy shit.” Alya looks concussed. “I had no idea.”

  “No big deal. I wasn’t there. I was small. I hardly knew the guy.”

  “Kid, that’s not how it works.”

  “That’s how it works for me. Anyway. They also use it if some kid ODs on something and the family wants it covered up. It sounds nicer on the obituary.” They’re both goggling at me now. “What?”

  “Nothing, kid. Sometimes you just know stuff that… Don’t worry about it. So you think we should investigate the causes of death?”

  “Yeah, if you can get them. My credit’s on the tox screen being out of whack. If they’d gotten shot or cut up or something at work, there wouldn’t have been any reason to cover it up.”

  “But what could this have to do with Pollux?”

  “They were all deployed here.”

  Gwen cringes. “So were a whole load of Patrolmen.”

  “Yeah. But these four were in the same squad.”

  “Gods.” Gwen’s face has gone white.

  “What?”

  “I may know what this is about. Oh, shit.”

  “What?”

  “Luke?” She looks at me real hard. “You mustn’t mention this to Osh, ok? Not a word to any of the kids; they all blab to each other. Not a word to anyone, ideally, but it’s really important that Osh doesn’t get to hear it. I’ll tell you why if my theory is right. But please, for now, keep this to yourself, ok?”

  “Alright. Sure.”

  “Ok.” She breathes slowly for a bit. “Thank you. I’ve got some digging to do, but this has potential. It would make a lot of sense.”

  “No problem. If this isn’t it, I can give it another go.”

  “What? You look like rehydrated shit.”

  “I don’t have to look good to do my job.” It comes out a bit harsh, but that was unkind of her.

  “That’s not what I meant! You just look like you need a break. I think you’ve done enough for now.”

  “Oh. Ok. Yeah. Maybe.”

  “You settle yourself down, ok? I’m going to follow this up. Quinn can look after the two of you.”

  Alya gets up. “I have to go too. I want to talk to as many people as possible before the meeting. And Raj is hanging out with Kolya and no adult supervision at the moment. Gods know what they are up to. Are you going to be ok on your own?”

  “Yeah. I need to, you know, make my brain the right shape again.”

  “Ok.” She squeezes my shoulder. “Yo
u did good, kid. Pop over to Kolya if you need anything, or when you can walk straight.”

  They fuck off and leave me to it. I settle myself into Asher’s chair, lean my head back, and start to gather my brain back up.

  After a while, Quinn comes back with the kids. They look at me but they don’t come over. I don’t look that inviting, I guess. I definitely don’t feel it. They have their lunch, then they grab a bunch of cushions, make a nest on a rug, and settle down to read. The little ones are asleep in minutes. They look so peaceful they don’t even look real.

  6. Quinn

  I wait until we’re at a point in the story where things are heating up and Mattie is really involved before making a big deal about checking the time.

  “Kitten, I have to do my meditation.”

  Two perfectly parallel lines crease her brow. “Now?”

  “I have to do it before the babies wake up. We’ve been reading a long time.”

  “It doesn’t seem like it.”

  “I know. It never does when the story is good. I love you, you know?”

  “Duh.” She gives me a squeeze and gets up. “You do your thing. I’ll see you after.”

  I rearrange myself and half-close my eyes so I won’t look as if I’m watching. I learnt to half-meditate as soon as Mattie was born; I’m not completely aware, but enough to react quickly if the kids need me, and I’m not completely zenned out, but enough to keep my psi-bility ticking along nicely. It’s not the same as a full meditation and it’s hard work, but I quite simply can’t get into a meditative state that blocks the kids out, not that I’d want to try. Maybe I’ll feel different about it when they’re a bit older; in their fifties or so.

  Mattie was gracious about me dropping her, but I know she’s unimpressed, and so does she: I can see her working through her various emotions, accepting them, and then moving on. I’m so proud of her I could burst. I don’t know another kid under the age of five who can manage her emotional state that well. I don’t know many adults who could, either. How a being that beautiful came into my life, I’ll never know. I know I don’t deserve her.

  Once she has finished processing her feelings and has composed herself, she walks over to where Luke is still sitting and staring into space.

  “They do it on purpose, you know.”

  “Do what?” When he speaks to her he sounds entirely unlike himself: interested, open, and gentle without being patronizing. It’s just as well, because if he spoke to her like he speaks to me I’d punch his lights out. I probably wouldn’t do a very good job and I’d get my ass kicked instead, but I’d still give it a go.

  “They get to a really good point in the story, and then they get busy. They want me to read on my own. I can read, you know. I just like it better when people read to me. It’s less work and it’s easier to see the stories.”

  He nods. “Yeah. I can see that.”

  “And daddy does voices.”

  “What about your mom and Quinn?”

  “Mommy and nonny do voices too, but they’re not as good. I think they’re scared of sounding silly.”

  “And your daddy isn’t?”

  “No. My daddy isn’t scared of anything. Apart from me and Jojo and mommy and nonny getting hurt.”

  “Oh. That’s kinda cool.”

  “Yes. Do you get scared of stuff?”

  He actually stops to think about the answer. Maybe the guy is not a total waste of air, after all. “I used to.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Then I stopped.”

  If he thinks he can fob Mattie off with a vague answer like that, he’s going to be disappointed. She stares at him until he carries on.

  “I didn’t stop feeling scared, not quite. I just stopped having anything to be scared of. All the scary things happened, and that was that.”

  “Oh. Ok.” She frowns and peers into his eyes. “Do you do voices?”

  That fazes him. “I don’t know. I never tried. My reading’s not so good.”

  “But you’re a grown-up.”

  “Yeah. I know. I know how to read, it’s just that when I try the words get muddled up.”

  “Is it your eyes? My mommy’s eyes get tired. She wears glasses.”

  “Nah. It’s my brain. It scrambles things up. All the letters get mixed about and that makes reading hard.”

  “Huh.” She sticks her thumb in her mouth and thinks for a while. “Does that make you sad?”

  His jaw twitches. “It used to. Not so much now. I got used to it. And there’s stuff I can do and other people can’t, so it kinda all works out in the end.”

  “Like the thing where you go far away and talk to yourself?”

  “Yeah. That’s pretty much it.”

  “How about this: I read for you, and you help me with the big words?”

  He nods. “I can try.”

  Mattie climbs into his lap and turns her reader on. She runs Luke through a long-winded and convoluted summary that cannot be doing much to clarify the story for him. She’s doing really well, all considering. Gwen firmly believes that kids won’t read books they can’t understand because they’ll get bored, so they should be allowed to read whatever sparks their imagination. Asher and I are not so sure, but we’re sure that there’s no point in arguing. We just limit ourselves to surreptitiously rearranging our bookshelves, in a manner of speech, in the hope that Mattie will not land on anything inappropriate.

  I don’t know what Luke was expecting; probably a soppy kids’ book with a lot of pictures and a few words in large print. Alas, Mattie is currently going through a 21st century popular fiction phase and is particularly fond of stories involving magic, murder, and mayhem. Luke looks thoroughly confused and overwhelmed, which fills my heart with glee. I hope for his sake that there are no naughty scenes in her current selection. Mattie has a habit of asking for clarifications when descriptions are left vague, and I don’t think the poor bastard could cope with that.

  When they finally get down to the actual book I discover that Luke wasn’t lying: his reading really is appalling. I momentarily wonder about telling Gwen, in case she has any suggestions on how to circumvent the issue, if it can’t be resolved, then I figure that Alya has probably already tried and failed. She’s not the easiest person in the world to get on with, but she clearly cares about Luke. She would have helped him out, if he could be helped.

  After a few minutes, once they get into the story, his problem seems to subside. He’s not going to win a reading competition or become a famous orator, but he’s actually not that bad, which suggests that there must be a stress component to whatever his issue is. I wonder if he knows that, and whether he’d believe me if I told him.

  I must still be shaken up by the shenanigans of the last few days because it takes me a while longer to realize something else: Luke didn’t need to tell Mattie about his reading. He didn’t need to talk to her at all. He could have turned her away. He could have closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep, much as I’m doing now. Instead, he chose not only to give her his time, but also to tell her something about himself that he doesn’t like; something that, by his own admission, used to upset him. He chose to make himself vulnerable in front of her.

  The more I know him, the less I understand him. I can’t say that I like him any better, but I’m confused enough about him to accept that I just don’t have all the facts. I still think he’s an ass and he still irritates me beyond words, but now I’m curious about him, too. It’s just as well: if we’re going to be stuck together in a spaceship for a few weeks, I may be less tempted to space him.

  I can’t even pretend to myself that I’m meditating, but I stay sitting seiza partly because I want a chance to think about everything that’s going on, partly because I don’t want to disturb them. They’re looking quite sweet together. That’s not much of an achievement, because that kid of mine looks sweet in most situations, but they’re having a special moment and I don’t want to barge in on it. If I’d not met the guy b
efore, I could believe that he’s truly enjoying her company. I know she’s enjoying his: she hates it when people baby her, and he’s treating her like an equal. I wonder whether it’s something he does with every child, maybe because he doesn’t know what else to do. Maybe he read Mattie right and he’s tailoring his behavior to suit her personality and preferences. Maybe he’s just being himself, for a wonder.

  I don’t get a chance to come to a conclusion before the mob descends: Asher, Osh, Kolya, and the Anteians all march in, the kids wake up, and it’s the usual happy mayhem. As soon as Asher walks through the door, Mattie is off Luke’s knee and into her daddy’s arms. I happen to be watching Luke while she shoots off, and I could swear that for a moment he looked forlorn before falling back onto his Lord of the Elves routine, his face rearranging itself into the usual studied blankness. By the time he is off the chair and greeting people, his conditioning, programming, or whatever the hell it is that operates him through his routine interactions has taken over again. The haughty, shuttered expression on his perfect face is so irksome that I have this sudden urge to smack him on the back of the head to see whether that could snap him out of it, whether that would be enough to get a genuine, personal, unfiltered reaction out of him. I wonder what it’d take for him to make me see him, the real him.

  As I disentangle myself off the floor, I realize that I’ve spent my entire meditation session thinking about him and I’m still doing that now, even though my people are here, even though I’ve not seen Asher in two days. The future of my family and my planet are at stake, and I’ve been wasting my not overabundant brainpower thinking about a semi-literate prettyboy with the most abominable attitude and manners I’ve ever had to endure.

  I feel a flash of fresh hostility towards the guy until a wave of shame washes it away. I don’t know what I dislike the most about him: how I feel about him, or how I feel about how I feel about him. I only have myself to blame for both, and I blame him for that, too. However long this trip turns out to be, it’s going to be too long.

  Gwen doesn’t join us until dinner is almost over. She looks exhausted and feels distraught, although she’s behaving as if everything were normal. She clearly has some news but she doesn’t say anything about it, and that’s worrisome: everyone here already knows about the mission and the data analysis Luke was carrying out, so what is she hiding, and from whom?